


I know you think I think too much

by grainyangel



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, i guess, idk what to call this format, maybe snapshots? i dont know, oh and hotel rooms, resolved tension, so whats actually in this thing????? uhhhhhhhhhhhh, something like mutual pining but like not for long, they sit in locker rooms a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22017046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grainyangel/pseuds/grainyangel
Summary: some snapshots of the following in no particular order:flirtation, obliviousness, realization, acceptance, enthusiasm, foolish behavior
Relationships: Samuel Girard/Erik Johnson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 98





	I know you think I think too much

**Author's Note:**

> I said I was gonna finish this in a day but like, in the grand scheme of things whats a day to a month et cetera et cetera....................................................................................it's fine
> 
> title from Mt. Joy's _Dirty Love_

Sam’s hair was wet with sweat, and it curled in that way it did when it was. His cheeks were pink. Made his eyes look bright. Made him look young. Christ. Sam was young. Very young. Twenty-one? Too fucking young. 

“What?” Sam asked.

“’What’ what?” Eric asked.

“You’re looking.”

“Sorry. Zoned out.”

“You sure?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Sam said. Coy asshole.

Erik pulled at the Velcro straps of his elbow pads, tossing them beside him on the bench in his stall has he took them off. 

“Hey, wait.”

“What?”

“Sit still,” Sam said.

“What? why?”

“You have an eyelash.”

“What?”

“Sit still,” Sam said again, and Erik did. Sam leaned in, face way closer to Erik’s than it needed to be, Erik saw out of the corner of his eye that Sam’s tongue was sticking out the corner of his mouth. With two delicate fingers, he plucked at Erik’s cheek.

“There,” he said. “Got it.”

“Gonna wish on it?” Erik asked.

“Huh?”

“Wish on the eyelash?”

“Oh. Yes.” Sam held his pinched fingers between them, closed his eyes for second. “Alright. How do I know it will come true?”

“Uh… Just gotta wait and see, I guess.”

“Wanna hear what I wished?”

“No,” Erik said faster than he should have. Might have come off rude. “It won’t come true if you say it.”

“Fine, I won’t say then.”

Erik went back to untying his skates. He undid the laces, looked up as he was pulling it off and met eyes with Gabe from across the room. Gabe wouldn’t have heard them, he couldn’t have, but he was wearing a half-confused frown nonetheless. Erik made a face like _what?_ and Gabe just shook his head. 

*

A few of the guys went out for dinner together while out on a roadie, to a restaurant they often went to when they were in town. Dinner and beer. Beers. Plural. They didn’t have a game the following day.

They were in a booth talking across the table. Guys were chirping each other in an easy way. They talked about the game and what shows they were each watching and might catch an episode of back at the hotel later, cars, hobbies, kids, whatever. 

At some point the conversation landed on the meal they’d just had, then went to diets, to cooking.

“EJ’s a decent cook.” 

“Hey, I’m an _excellent_ cook,” Erik said. 

“You don’t say.”

“I do say.”

“I won’t believe until I see it.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“When?”

“When we get back to Denver.”

The group went back to the hotel. Each guy split off to find his room. Just Sam and Erik were left by the end, their rooms just a couple of doors down from each other.

Erik was fishing his keycard out of his pocket and Sam, his room down the hall, came up behind him and poked his ribs making Erik fumble and drop the card.

“Got you!”

Sam tried to maneuver around and get Erik’s other side but Erik caught his wrist.

“Got _you_,” Erik said, and twisted Sam arm behind his body, not enough for it to hurt just enough that Sam couldn’t easily escape.

“Erik! Erik! Ah! Be nice to me!”

“Be nice to you? Why should I be nice to you?”

“Ahh! Erik! _Erik!_” 

In order to keep his grip on Sam’s arm at this angle Erik had to hold him fairly close, close enough that he could smell him, smell the product in his hair – fruitier than anything Erik himself ever used – and the beer on his breath. 

Erik let go. Sam rubbed his wrist but he was grinning. He was grinning like Erik had finally _got it_. Whatever _it_ was. Grinning like they now had a secret. Grinning like Erik slipped up, he shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have held him that close. Shouldn’t have breathed in Sam’s smell. Erik took a step back, just for good measure. Cleared his throat.

“Night, Sam,” he said.

“Night, Erik,” said Sam.

Erik had closed and locked his door. Taken out his contacts and put on his glasses. Changed into sweats.

He’d pulled his t-shirt halfway over his head when there was a knock at the door, and pulled it back down as he went to go see who it was.

“Sam?” 

“Can I come in?” Sam asked.

“Why?”

“Hang out?”

Hang out. Sam wanted to hang out here. Sam could hang out in his own room. Why would he want to hang out in Erik’s room, where Erik was? Maybe he was just restless, postgame energy maybe, some days it took a while to come back down, especially after a win. After dinner. After beers. 

“Erik?” Fuck. Right. Hang out. Nothing wrong with hanging out. No reason for Erik to say no. 

“Sure.”

Sam came in and Erik stayed by the door, closing it, watching Sam.

“What’s up?” Sam asked.

“Uh, nothing much, I was just going to read.”

“Oh? What are you reading?”

Sam spotted Erik’s suit hanging on the open door of the closet. 

“Is that your suit from today?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s a good suit. You looked good today.” 

Erik smirked. Not even he was immune to compliments. Not from Sam.

“You didn’t look so bad yourself,” Erik said.

“No? I didn’t look bad? That’s a nice compliment, thank you, Erik.”

“You’re welcome, Sam.”

Sam threw himself onto Erik’s made bed, still neat; Erik hadn’t had a chance to pull out the corners or anything yet. 

“You wanna watch a movie?” Erik asked, finally moving away from the door.

“What movie?” 

“I don’t know. Any movie?”

“Thought you were gonna read?” said Sam.

“Yeah, but you’re here now.”

“You can read. I can hang.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

*

Erik was grateful the social media team with their cameras and phones, were distracted by whatever was going on with André and another guy – Erik couldn’t tell who from where he was sitting, Nate maybe? it looked more like some obscure mating ritual than anything else – to pay attention to him. 

Erik was keeping an eye on Sam, and when he least expected it, he poked Sam in the ribs, getting him back from that time in the hotel. 

Erik knew he wouldn’t have been able to stop thinking about it until he got him back for that. Sam gasped, in that French little way he did. Then he all but crawled into Erik’s lap in an attempt to retaliate. Erik couldn’t help laughing, and praying to God that no one was looking at them, feeling like absolutely everybody was.

“Hey!” Erik laughed.

“Hey, what! _What!_”

“You’re real fucking bold,” Erik said, trying to get a hold of Sam’s wrists.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Sam said between his teeth, a mix between a grin and a grimace, not admitting defeat despite the fact that Erik had settled on just wrapped him arms around Sam to make him stop wiggling.

Erik half-wrestled-half-lifted Sam off of him.

“Ah! You’re gonna pay for this!” Sam protested.

“No,” Erik said. “I’m gonna finish tying my skates.”

Sam bumped Erik’s shoulder with his own.

“Can I?” Erik said, and Sam finally put his hands up in surrender. Just when Erik was pulling on the laces about to loop them around his fingers and tie the bow Sam reached down, quick like a viper and pulled at the already tied bow on the other skate almost undoing it.

“_Hey!_”

“Hey, hey, hey. All the time you just say _hey_.”

“You’re the one being a menace all the time.”

“A menace? I’m not! I’m nice!”

“That so?”

“Yes, and you like it.”

“Do I, now?”

“Yes, you love it.”

“Can I tie my skates?”

“Say you love it.”

“Say I love what?”

“Say you love me and I’ll let you finish.”

“Fine,” Erik said, and sighed deeply, and theatrically exasperatedly, so as to let Sam know that he didn’t mean it at all and only complied to get him to leave him alone. No chance of it being interpreted as sincere. “Fine. I love you. Can I please finish up here? I’ll have to redo the one you messed too.”

“Alright,” Sam said, eyeing Erik in an insufferably smug way. “Afterwards will you do mine too?”

“No!”

*

“Sam. Sammy. Get off!”

“What?”

“I’m holding a beer I’m gonna spill.”

“I’m not doing anything:”

“Christ, you’re like a squirrel.”

“Heh. _Squirrel._”

Gabe had invited everybody over for back yard beers. Everybody meaning the team. Plus some plus ones. The weather was warm and mild. 

Erik was standing, because all the chairs were already occupied, and for that same reason, Erik could only assume, Sam was hanging on Erik, as if somehow attempting to climb him. Erik complained heartily while trying to keep his balance but without actually shoving Sam off, and while also keeping an eye on other people’s eyes, but looking around he didn’t find nearly as many people staring as he expected. 

When Sam finally realized that Erik wasn’t going to help him onto his back or cradle him in his arms like a child or whatever it was he was trying to do, he detangled himself from Erik and walked away to find someone else to bother. That someone turned out to be Cale – barely-legal or newly-legal, Erik didn’t remember which – with an age appropriate drink, no doubt, in hand. The congregation doubled when JT and Tyson joined them. _Kids_, Erik thought. Then almost rolled his eyes at himself. _Geriatric_, he thought at himself. 

Gabe, who had been inside for a few minutes to get something or check something, definitely doing something, came over.

Erik was about to say something but noticed that Sam’s group had dispersed, and Sam was coming back in his direction.

He passed behind Erik and Erik turned his head to follow him with his eyes without turning his body. 

“Oh my god,” Gabe said, “not you too.”

“What?”

Gabe looked like he was weighing the pros and cons of elaborating. Must have decided against it. 

“You good?” Erik asked.

“Yeah,” Gabe said. It came out more like a sigh than a word. A very deep sigh. 

“Okay,” he said.

Gabe walked away again. Jost came over with JT in tow. 

“What’s his problem?” Tyson asked.

“Huh?”

“Gabe looks constipated,” JT said.

“Yeah…” 

*

“Why don’t you name a horse after me?"

“Huh? Oh, Landeskog?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve known Gabe for a decade.”

“You like him better?” Sam asked, a little more petulant than his usual tone, but only slightly.

“And you’re not a stallion.”

“No? What am I then?” Sam asked, coy as ever.

“You’re like… Hmm…” Erik thought. “You’re like a–”

“Squirrel?

“I was going to say puppy.”

“I’m not a puppy!” Sam said, indignantly. 

This was fun. Erik was going to milk this.

“You’re a puppy. Tiny little puppy,” Erik said. “Adorable little puppy–”

Sam reached and hooked his arm around Erik’s neck and pulled him down, his head into Sam’s lap. Erik pretended to struggle, but without pulling free.

“I’m not adorable! You’re the worst! You’re bigfoot! You’re a giraffe!” 

“And you’re a French little shit.”

Something about Sam’s gasp was incredibly French. And sort of musical. His voice was full of youth. Voice full of youth… what a ridiculous thing to say. Of course the kid sounded young. He was young. Sam turned his whole body around to see who had thrown the tape ball at them. 

Sam let go of Erik.

“That’s a good boy,” Erik said and Sam whacked his arm.

Erik watched the wet curls at the back of Sam’s neck. His skin had a ceramic smoothness. A glazed porcelain quality, sweat soaked like that. Doll-like in his prettiness. Not that Sam was delicate. He wasn’t. And Sam wasn’t a big guy. Erik was though, and still, he’d never been worried about knocking Sam over in practice, giving it to him whenever it was called for, and even sometimes when it wasn’t. 

Sam could give as good as he got. 

Erik hadn’t seen who the tape ball culprit was, but he had a pretty good guess, if the loud snickering coming from somewhere to the left of them was anything to go by. He picked it up and threw it in that direction.

“Did you throw it? Was it you?” Sam called in the same direction.

*

They were both kind of drunk. It was Erik’s fault. Sam had invited himself over to Erik’s place for dinner. Erik had served wine. A glass each while he was cooking, a couple of glasses while they ate, more glasses after.

Now they were hanging out in Erik’s kitchen. Erik wasn’t loading the dishwasher. Sam was sitting on the counter. His cheeks were bright pink. His hair curled in loose loops like a cherub’s.

“Hey, E,” Sam said, “you ever watched that movie call me my name, call your– your name by your name, how is it called? You know it?”

“Call Me By Your Name? Yeah I’ve seen it.”

“You have?”

“What you sound so surprised for?”

“Doesn’t seem like your kind of movie I guess.”

“The fuck you know about what movies I watch?”

“If I fucked a peach, would you eat it?”

“Jesus Christ, Sam.”

“Like the movie–”

“Yeah I watched the fucking movie.”

“So no?”

“That’s disgusting.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Fuck off, Sam.”

*

Another road trip. Another win. Erik wasn’t very superstitious but he still knew better than to use any explicit adjectives about the season they were having.

Sam’s room was on the same floor as Erik’s again, down the same hallway. Sam’s room was closer to the elevator though, and when Sam stopped in front of his own room Erik stopped as well. 

Sam pulled out his key card but he didn’t unlock his door right away. He fiddled with the card, looking at his own hands. Looked over Erik’s shoulder. Looked at Erik’s chest. Then at Erik’s face.

“You wanna come in?” he asked.

“To hang out?” asked Erik.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Hang out.” 

The stepped inside and Erik closed the door behind them. Click of the automatic lock sounded louder to him than it ever had before. Sam was shrugging off his jackets and throwing it over a chair. 

Erik head felt full of cotton and his gut full of bubbling champagne, despite the fact that he’d had nothing to drink. He didn’t know what Sam wanted to do. Maybe watch a movie, or an episode of the show they’d started watching together.

Sam came over. He stopped in front of Erik with what seemed like a little less space between their bodies than usual. 

“What do you wanna do?” he asked, and for some reason it struck Erik as a sort of childish question, especially because he could only think of childish answers. Maybe because he couldn’t say what he really wanted to do. He felt helpless and foolish.

Sam took a step forward and Erik sucked in a breath and thought that maybe he wouldn’t have to answer at all. Not having to say it seemed too good to be true.

And yet.

Sam leaned in, and Erik didn’t mean to tip his face down towards Sam’s, it just happened.  
But when Sam tipped his chin up, the fault was no one but Erik’s own as he leaned down to kiss him. Erik alone put his hand on the back of Sam’s neck, Erik alone pressed Sam’s body to his own. Well, Erik, and the fact that Sam leaned in like he thought he could merge their bodies together if he kept pressing.

They stumbled to the bed, and then tumbled onto it. Sam licked into Erik’s mouth, his tongue met the empty space where Erik’s front teeth weren’t. Erik couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t Sam. Couldn't smell anything, couldn’t taste anything that wasn’t Sam. He couldn’t conceive of putting his hands anywhere that wasn’t Sam’s hard, little body and feel his muscles move under the skin and he moved and responded to Erik’s touch. 

He hummed and gasped and giggled. So this was the kind of kisser Sam was, the enthusiastic, laughing kind. Erik went hot all over. He wanted out of these clothes. His own and Sam’s.

And Sam kept kissing him and kissing him and kissing him and he kissed Erik’s jaw and down his neck, and the he started on Erik’s chest, and grabbed the hem of Erik’s shirt, making as if to pull it over his head, and Erik felt in an instant, a little less warm.

“Sam,” he said.

“You’re so hot.”

“Sammy, please.”

Sam tugged at Erik’s shirt but Erik wasn’t helping him.

Erik didn’t want to do what he knew he had to. He really didn’t want to. He did it anyway.

“Sam. Sam. This is a bad idea.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Sam said.

“Sam.”

“Erik.”

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“Yes. We should.”

“Sam, I’m– please. Please. Stop. Wait.”

“What?”

“Can we talk? Sam, please.”

Sam stopped.

Then he climbed off. He didn’t look happy. Erik felt worse.

He took a breath. It didn't help.

“Sammy, we shouldn't... I’m too old for you," he said. "You’re a _kid_.”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Yeah, I’m _thirty_-one.”

“So?”

Erik hadn't given this much thought before but he was just now realizing that he was terrible at this.

“We shouldn’t… you should be with someone your own age. I’m no fun.”

“I think you’re fun.”

Suddenly what he'd thought of as the right thing to do seemed like the worst idea he'd ever had.

“Sam.”

“What? _What?_” Sam crossed his arms. “You know what, Erik, this isn’t fair.”

“Fair? What–”

“It’s not fair! You flirt with me too!” Sam said. Erik swallowed. “You talk to me like this and you always come on to me. It’s not just me. You like me too and I like you a lot. We both like each other. We both want to do it. You don’t get to say stop suddenly just because you decide you know better what is good for me. That’s not fair. You are doing it too and want it too.”

“Sam.”

“If it’s because you don’t like me then okay, but it’s not, I know it’s not, you’re just being mean. And that’s not fair.”

“Sam.”

“You kissed me.”

“I know. Sam, I know.”

“So unless you changed your mind after weeks and weeks, just changed your mind one minute ago…”

“Sam.”

“Did you?”

“No. I didn’t. I–”

“Then don’t be like this.”

Erik was such an idiot.

“I’m… Man, I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Erik said. Sam was right. Erik pleading his age and then acting like a child who can’t make up his mind. Sam was right. “Sammy. Sammy. Sam…”

“Yeah.” Sam had uncrossed his arms.

“I’m sorry, Sammy, you’re right. You’re right.”

“Yeah.”

“I do… fuck. I do like you. I like you so much. I like you so fucking much, Sammy, it’s stupid. It’s completely fucking batshit. Sammy, I’m so stupid about you.”

“Yeah, you are,” Sammy said, smile spreading on his face, crawling into Erik’s lap. “Hey, Erik?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m stupid about you too.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes,” Sam said, giggling, eyes bright. “_Fucking batshit_.”

“Hey, be nice.”

“_You_ be nice. Now, touch me again. Grandpa.”

“Sam!”

“Sexy grandpa.”

“Please.”

“Erik. Je t’aime.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I can say what I want.”

“Sammy.”

“Can I suck your dick?”

“Jesus, Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Christ. Yes.”

*

Sam was straddling Erik on Erik’s couch in Erik’s house and his hands were in Erik’s hair and his little accent was echoing inside Erik’s skull, saying all kinds of filthy things. Not twenty seconds ago Erik had been sitting, reading his book, with Sam’s feet in his lap. Then Sam had shifted in his seat and Erik had looked over and met Sam’s eye from behind Erik’s reading glasses, and the book had been all but forgotten and slid first to the cushion beside him and then to the floor.

“Sammy…”

“Yes, Erik?”

“I was– Sammy, I was reading…”

“Did I interrupt you?” Sam asked, “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry, breathing on Erik’s neck, nosing his earlobe. “Please forgive me,” he said, licking into Erik’s ear, making Erik jump.

“Sam!” 

“What?” he asked innocently.

“That’s gross!

“Did it tickle?” 

“Yes! Don’t– Don’t!” he tried to twist out of the way when it looked as if Sam was leaning to do it again. 

“Okay, okay,” Sam said, “I won’t.”

Erik grabbed Sam’s waist to pull him in closer.

“Sammy, you’ll be the death of me.”

“Cus you’re so old?”

“Shut up, Sam.” 

“Make me.”


End file.
